


The Waiting That Happens in the Space Between

by Nympha_Alba



Category: Merlin (TV) RPF
Genre: Drama, Future, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-01
Updated: 2012-11-01
Packaged: 2017-11-17 13:45:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/552192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nympha_Alba/pseuds/Nympha_Alba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There had been a time when Merlin and Arthur were teenagers and the actors who played them were still trying to figure each other out. There had been a time when they had been inseparable. But all that was long ago, and when <i>Merlin</i> wraps, Colin finds himself waiting for something that may never happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Waiting That Happens in the Space Between

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's Notes:** Written for the Merlin RPF BB. Much love to **marguerite_26** , **sabriel75** and **venivincere** for the beta work, to **isisanubis** for always cheering me on and up, to my lovely and incredibly talented artist **mushroomtale**. The art is imbedded in the story, but the separate art post can be found [here](http://mushroomtale.livejournal.com/68022.html).  
>  **Disclaimer:** The characters depicted herein don't belong to Shine, the BBC, or me; they belong only to themselves. I make no profit from this endeavour, and no disrespect or offence is intended.  
>  **Warnings:** Partly set in the (near) future. Contains wishful thinking and artistic licence in regard to timelines and events.

I

"...aaand that's a wrap!"

There was a bit of hugging and laughing and crying after that, whoops and cheers and incredulous shaking of heads. Colin pushed a strand of Katie's hair from his cheek, kissed the top of her head and glanced over at Bradley, who was busy fending off Eoin's Tigger-like bouncing. Over Eoin's shoulder, Bradley gave Colin a nod, his smile softening at the corners of his eyes. Colin held his gaze, and for a second there was nothing but that shared smile.

_We made it._

Yes, they had - they had made it through Series Five of Merlin, and that was more of an achievement than anyone would ever know.

But when Eoin hooked his arm around Bradley's neck and wrestled him to the ground to a storm of cheering, time began to flow again. Colin realised he was still holding Katie - holding her far too hard, like a shield against Bradley's radiance. She gave him a quick, upward glance and reached up to kiss his chin before she pulled away. Her eyebrows were knitted and for a brief moment Colin thought she _knew_ , that she actually understood.

The next second his hand disappeared into Big J's and the smile was back on his face. It was impossible not to grin around Big J.

Yeah, it was done. Series Five was done. They would no longer see each other every day, no longer have a winter hiatus with some small, interesting temporary projects that would possibly, hopefully, promote their careers or at least give them some more experience before they returned to the filming of Merlin each March, to familiar faces and new challenges and a lot of Welsh mud. It ought to be a relief, Colin thought; a little bit of regret and nostalgia perhaps, but mostly freedom and no looking back. There was no reason to feel like his life was ending.

II

As far as anyone could tell this was the very end of Merlin, and even if it turned out not to be, they intended to party as if it were.

Bradley was a happy drunk, happy and loud and even a little bit sweet sometimes. The wrap party was in full swing and it wasn't as if Colin was exactly sober himself, but he did watch Bradley warily out of the corner of his eye. As long as they were working it was fine between them, _because_ they were working. Either they _were_ Merlin and Arthur or focusing on Merlin and Arthur, and the Bradley and Colin parts of them had to retreat into the background. The promo stuff they would have to do for the series, the cons and interviews and whatever else people came up with - that would be more difficult. While that was still work, they would be more Colin and Bradley and less Merlin and Arthur, and most likely there would be awkward moments with a good bit of acting needed. Improvising wasn't Colin's strong point. He wasn't that good at acting without a script, off-stage and off-camera, with someone at his side that he... well, that he really loved.

Loved in that way that hurt like someone had cracked his ribcage open to get at his heart.

It would work better, he thought, if Bradley had loved him back. The promo stuff could even have been enjoyable if Bradley had loved him back.

And Colin's entire life would have been a lot easier if he'd been certain, without a shadow of a doubt, that Bradley _didn't_ love him back. Because sometimes there was a look or a gesture or a touch, and in an instant the connection between them was reinstated and there was heat in Bradley's eyes before he turned away. If Colin could only be sure that Bradley _didn't_ love him, that Bradley wasn't doing this out of some misguided notion that colleagues shouldn't shag each other or gay actors wouldn't get work - then Colin could let it go and get on with his life.

As the evening turned into night and everyone was drunk and high on joy and relief and other stuff, as people danced on the tables and made out underneath them and spilled things and laughed and played games, Bradley's eyes met Colin's with increasing frequency. It was almost like old times - those _very_ old times, when they had been a mystery to each other and things had been so much easier despite their differences.

At 4 am, when Colin had been drunk and hungover and then drunk again, Bradley came stumbling across the room to throw an arm around Colin's shoulders and breathe on his face. Colin felt his eyes cross as he tried to focus on Bradley's nose six inches from his own.

"Colin," Bradley said with that intensity that came from having to focus just to form words, "we made it." There was a careful space between each word. It made Colin laugh.

"Only just."

Bradley's hair was a mess and he was sweaty from dancing. It should be criminal, Colin thought, to look like that. Criminal to be blond and arch-nosed and have eyes that blue. After five years of working together, five years of closeness, familiarity had not lessened the impact.

"You think we'll continue to?"

"What?"

"Make it. Can we?"

It could have meant career-wise. It could have meant what Colin sort of hoped it meant. He wasn't sure of anything any more. But Bradley wasn't usually one to complicate things, so this was probably all in Colin's convoluted mind, and he was far too drunk to have this conversation or try to make sense of anything.

"No idea," Colin said, "but I think we should dance."

That made Bradley straighten up and grin, and a few seconds later they were swaying against each other in the middle of the floor in a sea of dancing people. _Bad idea. Bad, bad idea,_ because it was too easy to let go, too easy to drown, too easy to revert to what was well-known, well-loved and so damn close.

Colin's hands found Bradley's waist, their bodies touching from chest to knee, his cheek sliding over Bradley's softly until his mouth found the ear and his tongue the earlobe. Alcohol made reaction slow but Bradley started - a shudder went through him and he responded; for a moment he responded. His hands went to Colin's hips and there was a rumble in his chest, before he jerked backwards out of Colin's reach.

"No," his mouth formed even if Colin couldn't hear it through the music. "No."

The crowd flickered before Colin's eyes and Bradley disappeared in it. It was like falling. There was no net. There never had been.

Colin tried to blink Bradley back into focus but Bradley was gone, and there was nothing more to do here, nothing to do but leave. He let the door close behind him, shutting off the noise.

III

There had been a time back in Cardiff and back at Pierrefonds when Merlin and Arthur were teenagers and the actors who played them were still trying to figure each other out. There had been a time when filming did not attract much attention and the locations were not packed with fans. There had been a time when Bradley followed Colin around with a video camera until Colin was ready to bash him over the head but was too polite to. Besides, _that_ would have ended up being filmed, too.

All that felt like a very long time ago. Those days had a weird kind of nostalgia attached to them, as if they had been easy and simple, and Colin - all of them - had been sweetly naive. Of course that was not true. They had all been professionals even back then. Colin had already been naked on stage in London, had been in plays with names like Mark Gatiss and Dame Diana Rigg; he had been Jethro to David Tennant's Doctor. He wasn't fresh out of drama school and it wasn't as if Merlin was his first job. Still, there had been so many new things. He had never done television on that scale - it had been enough to give him vertigo and, if he thought about it too much, a bit of panic. A whole series with _him_ as the title character; a whole series that he had to carry - together with the actor who was to play Prince Arthur.

The first time Colin and Bradley met, at the first read-through, Colin had been nervous to the point of nausea. It had been so important to get along. But they had to find more than just a way to get along - and that was something that couldn't be worked on that much. It was about chemistry. They had to _click_.

Colin didn't think Bradley looked very Arthur-like, that first time. Nice-looking enough, but sort of everyday. Lovely voice though, posh, strong, deep; could be authoritative enough, he supposed. There was a little shiver down his spine at the thought of that, a frisson of something he couldn't identify. Perhaps it was a sign, a good one, meaning that something about Bradley James got to Colin and reached deep, touched something inside. They could work on that, _with_ that.

They didn't click.

Bradley proved to be a talented actor - and incredibly annoying off camera. He sang all the time and everywhere, giving entire performances all by himself between takes. He pranked people constantly, particularly poor Angel who was too nice to pay him back. And most annoying of all was how he seemed to follow Colin around, always with a slightly puzzled look as if Colin was the weirdest specimen of humankind that Bradley had ever come across. He kept staring at Colin's mouth as if trying to read lips, but perhaps it was that he didn't understand Colin's accent. "You should come with subtitles," he told Colin, and Colin couldn't help but resent that, just a little. As the weeks went by, Bradley got the hang of Colin's accent but didn't stop staring at his mouth. Colin had no idea what to make of it.

He had a hard time telling whether or not he was being bullied. Bradley was in Colin's _face_ all the time in a way he wasn't with any of the others. Bradley hero-worshipped Tony and bantered with Katie and played a million pranks on Angel - the relationship between Angel and Bradley could really be labelled "small boy and pigtail-pulling", Colin thought. About a week after he'd had that thought, he realised in a moment of clarity that this was exactly what Bradley was doing with Colin as well: pulling his imaginary pigtails.

Bradley's weird attentions were a bit easier to handle after that, but then someone came up with the idea of giving them a camera for video diaries.

Bradley _loved_ the video camera, but not in the way Colin had expected. He didn't want to be in front of it, which would have been Colin's guess - no, he used it to pester Colin. Well, everyone really, but Colin the most. Colin was followed around everywhere, with Bradley asking silly questions or adding stream-of-consciousness commentary - or just silently filming, which made Colin nervous. Sometimes Bradley popped up at inopportune moments, annoyingly chipper behind the camera when Colin was tired at the end of a long day as he waited endlessly to film a night scene (and a knight scene), feeling distinctly uncharitable.

On the other hand, they spent so much time together that it was impossible _not_ to get to know each other, and equally impossible not to like Bradley, at least a tiny bit. He teased and taunted but never with malice; he was talented and hard-working and always up for a laugh. But he didn't understand Colin's sense of humour, and Colin loved that. He delighted in cracking weird, deadpan jokes just to see Bradley's expression break up into confusion. Underneath it all, he felt that Bradley was still prodding and poking at him to find out what kind of person he was, and he had a strange feeling that Bradley would find out in a way that few other people had.

Colin also began to see what a good job the casting people had done; how right Bradley was for the role of Arthur. He mastered the whole range from serious to prattish to pure comedian, and to the commanding, compelling character that Arthur would become. And it couldn't be denied that he was pretty gorgeous with his floppy blond hair and ridiculously aristocratic profile. Truly made for on-screen kissing, backlit by a setting sun.

Once the concepts of Bradley and kissing had combined in Colin's head, the image couldn't be erased.

*

As an actor you were used to working with beautiful people. Colin had learnt not to feel self-conscious about his looks, and had on occasion been told that _he_ was beautiful. He didn't see that. He did see, however, that Bradley was classically blond and handsome, to the point where Colin was relieved he also had wonky teeth and acne scars. Those small imperfections somehow made him even more perfect, Colin thought as he stared at himself in the hotel bathroom mirror under a tired fluorescent light. He turned his head this way and that, noting with a sigh that his own flaws were definitely not _small_ , even though he had gradually reconciled himself with his ears. He liked his body well enough but his face was distinctly and indisputably odd-looking. Some of the odd looks could be softened with hair and beard, but _Merlin_ didn't allow for that. Colin pushed his fingers through his short hair and sighed at the hopeless, inexplicable bowl cut. He remembered the endless teasing and taunting of his early teens - that he was scrawny, that he had gigantic ears, that he had a pouty girl's mouth. As he got older, he had begun to appreciate his mouth. Various girls had, too.

And now there was Bradley, who was still trying to read lips.

*

On a gloriously sunny day on a hillside in Wales, Bradley-behind-the-camera told Colin that his cheekbones were kicking right off in that shot. Surprised, Colin tried not to smile and probably looked totally smug instead. He couldn't help it.

The comment sparked something new between them. Colin began to suspect that Bradley used the camera as an excuse to stare at Colin, focus on Colin, follow him around. He must have got that right, because soon Bradley began to do that even without the camera. When there were interviews he always talked about Colin, about his acting talent or his accent or how Bradley had tried to figure Colin out, talked about how they hadn't hit it off in the beginning as if that was so far in the past it had transformed into just a good story.

There was only one conclusion Colin could reasonably reach: Bradley was just a little bit obsessed.

IV

The evening was warm around them, with that summer melancholy in the air that is particular to northern countries. There is a frail quality to the dusk, a kind of lingering melancholy that comes from the knowledge that it will soon end - in no time at all the rolling hills will be powdered with snow, huddled together in the biting wind.

Colin sat with Bradley in the small back garden of the hotel, not wanting to go to bed even if they both had an early call tomorrow and ought to sleep. Evenings like this were too rare. They were quiet, listening to a blackbird and the distant murmur of voices while Colin picked at the label of his water bottle and Bradley drew patterns in the gravel with a twig.

Suddenly Bradley looked up. "I'm sick of sticking around here," he said, "and I'm not tired yet. There's this club I found with Santiago the other week - want to go?"

Colin blinked. "What, now? I can't; I have a stupidly early call tomorrow."

Bradley looked like a small, enthusiastic boy. "We don't need to stay long. Or, if it's fun we can stay all night and go straight to work."

"I'll _die_ if I do that," Colin said, laughing a little, "and you'll probably poke out people's eyes with the sword."

"Come ooon, Colin! Just an hour or two."

"I'm not a club person", Colin tried lamely. "At all. And I never drink when I'm working. You know that."

Bradley was quickly arriving at that stage of excitement that Colin couldn't resist, when he radiated enthusiasm and energy. Luminous. The bastard.

"That's the beauty of this place," he was saying, "if you're that kind of person. I mean, your weird teetotal kind of person. Because that's their thing. The club's thing. They have a no-drugs policy, not even a beer, nothing."

Colin eyed him skeptically. "And people adhere to that?"

"Seems like it. Guess it's nice to go some place where people don't spill cocktails down your collar or vomit on your shoes. You're meant to get high on the music. The dancing. And you do."

In the face of Bradley's enthusiasm Colin had no strength, no willpower. He melted like chocolate.

As they walked down the stairs to the basement club, he stared at the back of Bradley's neck thinking _I absolutely shouldn't do this._ Then he grinned, because there was a certain thrill in things he shouldn't do.

The club was tiny, the light pulsed, the dance floor was chequered black and white and filling up quickly even if it was still early. Colin never went to places like this. He liked live music, pubs, gigs. Clubs weren't for him. Except maybe they were. Maybe this one was, because Bradley had chosen it and thought of him. Colin closed his eyes, the bass beat pounding his sternum and thrumming under his feet like an alien pulse. Making him move. He who never danced was dancing now, not caring if he looked ridiculous or wore the wrong things. No one else seemed to care, either. When he opened his eyes he saw Bradley in front of him, dancing too, watching him. Colin smiled, wrapped in music; it felt good. The whole thing felt good. In all the world there was only the beat and the people moving in time to it, and Bradley's face flickering white-blue-silver-purple-white before him. He wasn't real. Couldn't be real. Neither of them was real.

Colin closed his eyes.

When he opened them again it wasn't Bradley's face he saw, but another bloke's; someone who had wedged himself in between them and was dancing quite close to Colin. His eyes were dark in the weird light; his hair dark too. Nice looking. Tall. Obviously interested.

There was a quickening of Colin's blood, a spark of excitement at the fact that someone at a place like this _wanted_ him - and that devilish little instinct to flirt just to see Bradley's reaction. He glanced at the bloke and smiled coyly, not a glaring invite but still an unmistakable one; feeling the excitement low in his belly, in his hips, down his thighs.

Bradley's face was stony. He watched Colin flirting for a minute, his mouth grim, before he shouldered the dark bloke out of the way and leaned in to say something.

"What?" Colin shouted, triumph bubbling in his chest. "Can't hear you."

Bradley grabbed him by both shoulders and stilled him, mouth close enough to Colin's to make him shudder from the damp heat: "Remember you're here with me."

They stared at each other for a moment as Bradley pulled back. The bass beat thudded against Colin's sternum like an external heart, the pounding of his own nearly as loud. He nodded sideways towards the door, raising his eyebrows in a query, and felt Bradley's hand scrabble at his sleeve, pulling him away from the dance floor.

If this was the payoff, it was worth flirting for thirty seconds.

They stumbled up the stairs in a tangle of arms and legs, not knowing where they were going, only that they had to get out. When cool air met their hot faces they sobered up a fraction, but only to stagger around the corner into a narrow cul-de-sac with dustbins at the far end. They were both panting; Colin's back was pressed against rough edges of brick and Bradley's face was inches away.

"I'm going to kiss you."

The stars were barely visible in the near-dark sky and Colin wanted to laugh - not because anything was funny but in triumph, _at last_. And his heart was doing this weird melty thing over the fact that Bradley was _warning_ him, giving him a chance to back out, to say no. As if he'd ever do that. As if he hadn't been waiting for this for weeks.

Colin leaned forward, leaned in; smiling against Bradley's mouth. "About time, too."

His bottom lip was caught between Bradley's teeth and sucked into his mouth. When their tongues met Colin was already shaking, his skin hot and oversensitive as if he had a fever, shuddering under Bradley's palms.

Tongues and teeth, fingers in hair and under shirts, but when Bradley wedged himself in between Colin's thighs so they could both feel how hard the other was, Colin placed his palms on Bradley's chest.

"Sorry," Bradley breathed, looking confused and dishevelled, eyes huge and lips kissed swollen.

"No, no," Colin said, "just - not here. Let's get back to the hotel."

The relief in Bradley's face made Colin's heart do strange things again. As they flagged down a cab and got in, as the car moved through the summer evening and people laughed in the streets, they couldn't stop looking at each other. It shouldn't be a shock, but it was; the moment of clarity, of realisation: _I'm really in love._

V

The memories weren't even clear any more. The end of the first Merlin series, the hiatus, film projects, the beginning of the second series - the lingering impression was of enthusiasm and joy, great experiences and tons of new skills, and every memory permeated by Bradley. Colin had so many images of Bradley that he could recall at will, and so many that popped up unbidden: Bradley at work in chainmail or Arthur's red linen shirt - or in private, in a hotel bed with nothing on at all; his skin shimmering white in the near-darkness of the room. The way he looked up at Colin riding his cock agonisingly slowly, grinning down as Bradley grumbled, clutching at Colin's hips to make him speed up. Bradley's head falling back against the tiled wall of the shower, water trickling down his face and neck, his mouth opening as he came. Bradley laughing against the backdrop of blue sky and green hills, or frowning in concentration over a changed script as the rain tapped endlessly on tarps and umbrellas.

It didn't do to dwell on those memories, and Colin had gradually built walls to keep them in place. Now and then he allowed himself to wallow in it, in what had been the happiest time of his life so far: the filming of _The Real Merlin and Arthur_. The small, confined space of the car, the beautiful landscape, myth and learning, work and love. The camera crew carefully pretending not to notice that one room was not slept in. The shared glances, there for everyone to see, like a public secret.

The memories of what came after were harder to handle, but Colin had learnt to keep those behind locks and bars as well. Bradley's withdrawal, his half-embarrassed murmurs that maybe they should see other people, that it wasn't healthy to be so close with someone you worked with every day. Then there was Georgia, and the irony of that had hurt. Like everything else had hurt.

When Bradley had come to see Colin on stage at the Royal Court after the third series, it had been like the old days for a few hours, but Colin had learnt not to harbour expectations.

Time had healed nothing. It had only dulled sharp edges and made him numb.

VI

Even if the last season of Merlin was over, there were still things connected to Merlin that needed doing, some more pleasant than others. There were good interviews and really stupid interviews, and then there were gems like going to musicals. Colin loved live performances.

But sitting next to Bradley in the theatre, so close that their thighs were pressed together, felt like a particularly mean kind of torture. _Look. Here he is, all gorgeous, and you can't have him. Look carefully. Soon you'll be gone from each other's lives._

They smiled for the cameras, tiredly.

When Bradley asked if Colin wanted a lift home, only surprise made him say yes.

Bradley talked the whole time, about absolutely nothing; he was easy and amusing as if they didn't know each other and he was keeping the conversation going. The lights of the London night that Colin normally found so mesmerising were a blur before his eyes. Since this could never be real - this thing with Bradley - he just wanted it to be over.

"So, this is it then," Bradley said at last and applied the handbrake. He didn't switch off the engine, like a prompt for Colin to get out of the car in two seconds flat and let Bradley drive away.

And Colin would probably do just that, simply get out of the car, because what else was there to do?

He shrugged, smiled, although he didn't know what the smile was for when he felt like he would break any moment. To hide behind, he supposed. It made his face ache. The rain was drumming on the roof of the car and Bradley's face was lit from below by the dashboard. _Even this light,_ Colin thought. _Even this light loves him. Not just the golden light that made him King Arthur on set._

"Yeah," he said belatedly. "I guess so. Whatever _it_ is."

Bradley laughed. "I think in this case _it_ means NO MORE MERLIN NO MORE MERLIN EVER OH THANK GOD. It's only now getting through to me. No more chainmail, no more grey neck at the end of the day, no more dropping swords on my toes and wrenching my back fighting. I'm not King Arthur and you're not a sneaky sorcerer with a neckerchief. We're just us. Just Bradley and Colin. Until the next play of film or whatever it will be."

"See you around...?" Colin asked, and he was glad of the darkness because he was fairly certain he blushed at the way that came out. Pleading. Needy. And pretty idiotic. Referring to a past that Bradley had spent the past few years trying to ignore.

Bradley replied with a light punch to Colin's biceps. "You have my number. I have yours." He paused. "I guess I'll call you when I get sick of Eoin's drunk snores and weird eating habits."

Colin tried to smile again but his mouth still didn't work right. _I guess I'll call you._ Meaning _don't call me_.

"That'll be next week then," he said and wanted to kiss Bradley, who looked taut and polished in the blue light, but he had tried that at the wrap party and it had not been welcome.

Bradley grinned. Colin hated his straight teeth. This was the new, smooth Bradley that things just slid off like water off a goose. This was Bradley primed for Hollywood, or something. Bradley primed for other things than Colin.

"Thanks for the lift," Colin said, and Bradley stopped him then, pulled him into a hug of that back-slapping sort that was so Bradley on the football pitch and so very much not Colin. For a fraction of a second, his cheek touched the side of Bradley's neck and he inhaled the familiar smell of Bradley's skin, rising warm from the neckline of his t-shirt.

He felt drunk when he stood on the wet pavement watching Bradley's taillights disappear round the corner; drunk in a dull, empty way. He walked up the stairs blindly, fumbled the keys and dropped them on the floor, and the sound as the door to his flat fell shut behind him was final. Click. Done. Gone. Chapter closed, wrap party over, hangover done with and the last goodbyes said.

Colin threw himself on his back on the bed, not even bothering to switch on the light. There was an emptiness here that had nothing to do with work or loneliness, nothing to do with _him_ , only him in connection with Bradley.

Because it was definite now. There was no Colin-and-Bradley. There never would be.

VII

Getting back into theatre was a blessing. Nothing here had any connection with Bradley; Colin had never worked with Bradley in the context of theatre. He closed his eyes and inhaled the smell of dust and disinfectant and that unidentifiable note that told him he was in a theatre, just as absolutely and indisputably as you knew the smell of a church. This was home.

His first play ran for three months, the seats faithfully filled by Merlin fangirls every night. Sometimes Colin left through the stage door; sometimes he found an escape route. Signing stuff for fans was fine once in a while, at other times not so much. He had a short-lived thing with his co-star, who was beautiful in a rather stately way and completely unlike Bradley in any other. It didn't last. When she was gone Colin didn't miss her, and felt bad about it.

He talked to Eoin once in a while, getting the occasional invite to Eoin's and Bradley's place that they shared with a third actor Colin didn't know, but Colin always declined. Via Eoin, he could get news about Bradley without actually having to meet him. Apparently Bradley had been in a play that folded and was now signed up for another sports film, due to start shooting in London in a few weeks.

When the Royal Court staged a production in Dublin Colin was lucky enough to be in it, and it was good to be back in Ireland to work. He hadn't done that since _Parked_.

There was only one hitch: the director hated him.

It was a new situation, and a bewildering one. The acting world was full of egos and weirdos, but ultimately they were all working towards the same goal and mostly managed to get along. Colin had always imagined himself easy to work with. No one had ever complained, or taken him aside to give him subtle hints. But Martin truly _loathed_ him and didn't miss an opportunity to let him know.

A few weeks into rehearsals, after a day particularly filled with nasty comments and humiliating exercises, Colin slammed the door to his hotel room and threw himself on the bed. His phone was in his hand, and it didn't even take him five seconds to make the decision.

Bradley answered surprisingly quickly. His voice, deep and warm, made Colin close his eyes for a moment to let the shudder of longing pass.

"Cols?"

 _Pull yourself together._ "Yeah, it's me. How are things?"

"Good, good, just started filming here in London. And you're in Dublin, Eoin tells me."

"Yeah - listen, that's sort of what I called about. You've worked with Martin Kay, haven't you?"

"He's an arse," said Bradley immediately with such conviction that Colin began to laugh. "What?"

"Well, that's what I wanted to know, really. I'm being... harrassed, more or less, and I don't know how to handle it, you know?"

He could hear Bradley breathing.

"By him, or by the other actors as well?"

"Jesus, no, not the other actors. They're fantastic. It's just him. And I was beginning to think that maybe I really can't act, maybe I really am this miserable piece of talentless crap he tells me I am. But if you're saying that this is what he's like generally, it's a bit easier to take."

There was a pause at the other end, more breathing. Something in the quality of it told Colin that Bradley was really fucking angry, eyebrows knit, jaw set.

"If you'd like me to come over and punch him in the face," Bradley said at long last in carefully measured tones, "you only have to say. Everyone knows I'm the only one allowed to harrass you."

Another shudder of longing, of recognition and loss and memories and _want_ , ran through Colin head to toe and robbed him of speech. The protective side of Bradley left him defenceless, always. Presumably Bradley was joking but he sounded dead serious, and for a moment Colin toyed with the idea of saying _yes, do, do come over and punch Martin in the face and then come back to my hotel room and fuck me senseless_.

He swallowed his words and found others, a bit of joking and a few polite phrases, and Bradley did the same. Afterwards, Colin lay for a long time staring at the ceiling, focusing hard on keeping himself in one piece, not shattering like a sheet of glass at the sledgehammer impact of Bradley's voice.

He couldn't let himself fall apart like this, not for Bradley being stupidly brave and noble like Arthur.

But Merlin and Arthur, Colin thought, had been destined to meet and be together, whereas Colin and Bradley seemed destined to meet and be apart.

VIII

Every flat surface in Colin's tiny kitchen was filled with vegetables, nuts and seeds, pots and pans. There would be some serious cooking this weekend. Without knowing and simply by existing, Bradley had made Colin a quite good cook.

Colin opened the dishwasher and got a faceful of steam, wiping at his face as he turned to stir the pot on the cooker. The worktop was heaped with dill seeds, chopped horseradish, fresh green blackcurrant leaves from the farmer's market.

His cooking adventures had started after the third series of _Merlin_ had wrapped, to fill the empty Bradley-shaped space in Colin's life. Cooking was therapeutic, it was creative, and it stopped him thinking about anything other than the work at hand. It had started out simple with stir-fries and soups, but there was a direct relation between the complexity of his cooking and how much he missed Bradley at that particular point in time. As his loneliness increased, his dishes grew more complex. Today's cooking was somewhere in between.

If someone had told Colin some few years back that he would be standing in his kitchen pickling courgettes, he'd have thought they were demented. But here he was, and the whole flat smelled warm and green and sour-sweet, and like a real home.

And then he was kind of back where he had started, because a real home should be shared.

He shook his head and began sorting through his herbs and spices; cumin, caraway seeds, cardamom pods; saying the names out loud to drown out everything that was crowding in his head: names, songs, faces. Reciting names was good; it prevented stringing words together into sentences. He didn't want to think. Right now he just wanted to be here and pretend that nothing existed beyond the walls of his flat. Oregano, sage and thyme; chili flakes, cinnamon, vanilla bean.

He had to put a stop to this. Bradley couldn't continue to be the only key that unlocked Colin's life. All that had been a long time ago, and _Merlin_ was long over. Time was a great healer and he had to let that cliché do its job. Sometimes he could almost convince himself it was working. He could go days without thinking of Bradley, weeks even. But then there was always something, just one small thing, a detail, that reminded him of Bradley's smile or the smell of his skin or something he had said in bed in the rain-grey light of morning - and things came crashing down. The cold feeling was back at the pit of Colin's stomach, all the hurt and regret. His fingers missed Bradley's skin, and no amount of work could make that go away.

IX

On his way to the theatre painfully early in the morning, just as the tube trains started running, there was a crying girl in his carriage. Her head was bent and her long hair falling down to hide her face, but now and then she was shaken by a sob. Something about her - perhaps her posture, the _forlornness_ of it, if that was even a word - suggested that someone had just broken up with her.

For a while Colin sat biting his lip. He did not want to witness this, did not want to sit here and creepily watch her cry. It felt like he ought to do something to help. _You're being ridiculous,_ he told himself. _What could you possibly do?_ But the feeling didn't go away, and after a few agonising minutes he rose from his seat and sat down opposite the girl, leaning forward.

"Are you okay?" His voice sounded harsh, just like the light from the fluorescent tubes in the carriage was harsh, making them both look pale and wan.

When she looked up, he saw that she was on the phone - the earbuds had been hidden by her hair. Her face was streaked with tears. Perhaps this someone was breaking up with her _right now_.

"Oh, sorry," said Colin hastily.

There was no recognition in her eyes. Not a Merlin fan, then. As he stood up to return to his seat, a tremor passed over the girl's face - a brave, fluttering shadow of a smile.

"Thank you," she mouthed.

He gave her a smile and went back to his seat, calmer now. Perhaps he really had made her feel better for that fraction of a second he was standing there.

Wasn't that what he wanted to do with his work, too? he wondered suddenly. Maybe not change people's lives, exactly; that was far too pretentious. But change them _just a little_ , if only for a moment? And change his own in the process, too. That was why he hadn't moved to the States although he'd had the chance more than once. That was why he kept taking on those odd indie projects that drove his agent up the wall. It was films and plays like those that had the power to change the way he thought, that offered him a challenge on a daily basis. That was how he wanted to live: learn, change, touch people's lives.

When Bradley had danced into Colin's life, it had changed irretrievably. Some day Colin would be able to think about Bradley with gratitude; some day he would be able to remember only the good things. For now, he tried to put all that, good and bad, in a box and close the lid. And perhaps one day when he opened the lid, if he was lucky, the box would have turned into an oyster and its contents into a pearl, quietly shimmering with all sharp edges gone. One day he would find that the hurt had dispersed and only beauty remained.

X

When the doorbell rang, Colin wrenched the door open with his elbow because his hands were sticky with bread dough. Eoin's grin was blinding, his clear brown eyes laughing. He wanted Colin to come out to the pub.

"Can't," Colin said, "I'm cooking, but come in for dinner if you like?" Wiping his hands on a tea towel, he probably looked very domestic.

Offering Eoin food always worked. He turned on the spot.

"Back in a minute!" he shouted, already halfway down the stairs.

When he returned, he was laden with bottles and a bunch of carrots. "I suppose I should have bought flowers for the host, but I figured carrots were better. More dietary fibre."

Colin laughed. "They're beautiful, thank you."

Without knowing it, he had missed Eoin and the way everything felt easier whenever he turned up. There was no time for brooding when he was around. All problems felt small or ridiculous, and whatever they were, you could drown them in beer.

"Who else is coming?" Eoin asked now, sprawling on a kitchen chair and tilting it back until it balanced on two legs.

"Er, no one?"

The chair crashed back down. "You were cooking a five course meal just for yourself?"

"Yeah."

A hundred questions were forming in Eoin's eyes and Colin cringed a little, not ready for the storm. But Eoin was uncharacteristically tactful and only asked one of them, an easy one. "So now you have to cook twice as much because I turned up?"

" _Twice_ as much?" Colin said. "At least three times." That earned him a hair ruffle and a bottom pinch as Eoin lunged at him. "Ow! Get off me, you brute!"

Eoin placed a wet kiss on Colin's cheekbone. "I'll get into those beers while I watch the show, then. Where's your opener?"

*

"Jaysus," Eoin said later as he swallowed the last of the palate cleanser. "I have no idea what I just ate, but it was fucking incredible."

"Lemon verbena sorbet," said Colin and rose to add the last touches to the next course.

"I didn't think you liked ice cream."

Surprised that Eoin should have noticed - and remembered - details like that about him, Colin turned around at the counter. "I can't _eat_ ice cream," he corrected.

"But this was - "

"This was sorbet - no dairy in it. I can eat tofu ice cream though."

Eoin made a face. "No wonder you don't like it." Just then his phone rang and he stretched out his legs, leaning back to fish it out of his pocket. "Yeah? What's up? - Bradley," he added in an aside to Colin.

For a moment Colin froze to the spot but recovered quickly, turning his back. His face was hot and his fingers shook; it was ridiculous.

"No," Eoin was saying on the phone, "I'm having a Michelin star five-course meal at Colin's place. - He's right here; I'll hand over the phone."

Before Colin could protest, Eoin got up and thrust the phone at him. Grimacing wildly, he tried to make Eoin understand that this was a _really_ bad time and he couldn't talk right now, but Eoin just grinned and tapped the phone against Colin's chest until he took it.

"Hello?" came Bradleys voice from the speaker, small and tinny, and Colin sighed and lifted the phone to his ear.

"Hi. Look, I'm sorry but I'm cooking here and I've reached a critical stage, so I'm going to hand you back to Eoin." It was rude, he knew, but he _couldn't_ talk to Bradley right now, not completely unprepared and definitely not with Eoin listening in.

He threw the phone at Eoin so he'd have to catch it, turning around to pretend to do something Very Important with the food. Behind him, he heard Eoin talk but didn't listen to what was being said. He couldn't; the words were drowned out by the thudding of his own heart.

The asparagus looked beautiful, so did the creamy soup, and the truffles smelled like heaven. Food was safe. If he could only focus on the food, he'd be safe.

XI

"How long are you going to do this?"

From the other side of the desk, Colin's agent looked at him over the rim of her glasses and he started, immediately feeling guilty even if he didn't know what she was referring to.

"Do what?"

She sighed, aligned a sheaf of paper with the edge of her desk and tapped a pen on top of it. "How long are you going to stay with the small theatre productions and low-budget indie films?" When he opened his mouth to reply, she continued: "I know I can't stop you from accepting whatever roles you want, but I have to tell you that career-wise, it's not a good choice."

"It's what I enjoy doing." He gave her his best disarming smile, laced with that cheekiness that people seemed to find hard to resist. "I don't need huge productions. I want interesting roles. I want a challenge. If I can only have that, then I don't care what it is or where, or even how much I get paid."

"In other words, you're not letting me do my job." His agent leaned back in her chair, tapping the pen against her teeth now while she eyed him thoughtfully. Then, all of a sudden, she smiled. "But I do like it that you know what you want." She pulled the sheaf of paper towards her. "I see here that you'll be filming in Ireland for three months. But when you're done with that, I have an interesting project I'd like you to have a look at. It's a film, it's set here in England, it's a well-loved classic and there will even be some familiar faces for you."

"Who? And what's the classic?"

"Anthony Stewart Head has been confirmed as well as Liam Cunningham," she read, "and Bradley James is being approached for the role of Henry Crawford."

Colin nearly dropped his coffee mug but saved it before the liquid had sloshed over the rim and onto his jeans. Avoiding his agent's eyes, he leaned forward and placed the mug on her desk with exaggerated care.

"And what's the role I'd audition for?" His voice seemed to come from far away. He was surprised it sounded so normal. Light, even. Interested.

"No audition needed. It's yours if you want it; that's why I wanted to see you today. They want you as Edmund Bertram."

Colin swallowed. To buy himself time he leaned forward with his forearms on his thighs, looked down at his hands and clasped them loosely. He'd be an idiot to say no, and she knew he knew that. But filming with Bradley - he was nowhere near ready to do that.

"There are many who would love to see you and Bradley together on screen," she urged him on gently.

Colin looked up with a sigh. He couldn't think of a good excuse. "When does filming start?"

His agent beamed at him, as if that had been a yes. "In August. You'll have time for a holiday after you've wrapped up in Ireland. I understand that Bradley will be filming in Glasgow until the end of July."

"For that police series - I forget the name now?"

"Yes. Apparently it's been discontinued; there won't be a second series." She looked at him expectantly, and his stupid brain still couldn't come up with a valid excuse. Not even a feeble one.

"Okay," he said at last, feeling like he'd just signed his own execution order. "Okay."

There was nothing more to say.

*

Colin had time for a short break in Ireland before filming began in Kerry, but despite the first real warmth of spring and the stunning jewel colours of the island, everything felt bleak. He was nervous, he realised - nervous about something that wouldn't happen in another five months and very likely wouldn't happen at all.

But it was nice to be home, and bless his parents for never once telling him to get a "real" job, never once having told him to give up his dreams. They were proud of him now in the same way they had been when they had watched him in a school play when he was eight.

The best thing about being home was that it was impossible to be a "star". No one would have had any of it if he had tried. He enjoyed getting drunk with his friends but while part of him was having fun, the other was staring into space. It was dark there. And cold.

After a week at home, Colin went down to Dublin. People and streets, shops and bridges, cranes against the sky where the river met the sea - he loved this place. He strolled around looking at shops and drinking in the atmosphere, stopping to buy a coffee. In Easons he posed for a picture with two giggling girls, but otherwise found himself left pretty much alone, to his relief.

The next morning he went to meet Katie at the Trinity gates as agreed. She was already there when he arrived, jumping up and down as she spotted him. He hugged her so hard she squeaked, and it took one look for her to tell him he needed a holiday.

"I'm having one right now," he pointed out.

She looked doubtful but didn't persist. Around them, students welled through the gates in a never-ending stream, carrying book bags and blinking at the sun. Peering up at the miraculously blue sky, Katie said: "Let's go to Bray and walk along the cliffs." And Colin really had nothing better to do.

They were recognised on the train; some girls asked them to sign notebooks and hands and arms and they obliged, smiling with practiced sincerity into the cameras. In Bray they had fish & chips - at least Katie did. Colin stayed with chips and opted for a lemon wedge rather than vinegar. They had to fight the seagulls to keep their food; Katie laughed and mimed a sword fight. She was better with swords than Colin was, even imaginary ones.

When they climbed up on the cliff path it was easier to breathe. The path was empty and up here the winds were stronger, pulling at their clothes and making Colin's jacket flap. Katie's hair was blown about wildly, getting into Colin's mouth when he spoke.

"I should have worn sunblock," he said, glancing up at the cloudless sky.

Katie dug in her satchel and handed him a small tube.

Colin put her SPF 50 on his nose and ears and called her Mary Poppins, wondering why he was feeling so shitty on this beautiful day. It was as if something was missing, something huge. But what could possibly be missing? He was on holiday and he knew what his next job was, so he wasn't suspended in that vacuum that so many actors dreaded. He was walking along the cliffs in this scenic landscape that he loved, with Katie whom he also loved in that old, familiar, easy way. Below them, the waves crashed against the foot of the cliffs, breaking up into foam. The sea was green and the gorse was in bloom, bright yellow on the slopes above them. Sea birds called, and the sound of the waves mingled with the rush of wind around them. When Colin licked his lips, they tasted of salt and sunblock. It was something about the light, he decided, that was making him feel so empty. The angle of it, the quality. The postcard-blue sky.

Katie, walking ahead of him on the path, turned around and said: "This time two years ago, we were in Wales."

And there it was: Katie had nailed it. _That_ was what was missing. With spring in full bloom, they were used to being in Wales filming _Merlin_.

"Do you miss it?" she asked and peered at him.

Colin shook his head. No, he didn't. He missed _people_ , though, but carefully avoided any names.

"I'm going to lie down on the hillside, right _there_ ," Katie declared, pointing.

They climbed up and plopped down side by side on the moss and grass and springy heather, soft and fragrant like the most luxurious of beds. Small, fluffy clouds were sailing idly across the expanse of blue above.

"What's next for you?" Katie asked, and Colin crossed his arms under his head and told her about the film project looming in the distance.

Katie in her turn had a new tv show coming up, and he could tell she would be gorgeous in it. Talking about it made her excited and she sat up, drawing wild figures in the air. As she turned her head, the wind took her hair and blew the masses of it into the gorse bush, leaving her helplessly caught. The more she tried to disentangle herself, the worse it got.

"Colin," she said, giving him puppy eyes, "be a gentleman and help a girl out."

He walked on his knees through the heather and began to disentangle her, freeing her hair from the thorns skein by silken skein, handing each back to her to gather in her hand. While she talked about meeting Milly Fox for coffee in London the week before, Colin stared at his fingers. If only real life could be as easy to bring to order as this, he thought. If he could just pick one thing after another like this, free them from the thorns and hold them in place.

"Are you listening, Colin? You're not, are you?"

"I'm listening. Milly is pregnant again."

"Now you're making things up," Katie said. "I don't think she is, or do you know something I don't?"

Colin grinned and shook his head, freeing another strand of hair and placing it in her hand. "Sit still, McGrath, or we'll be here until we rot."

Katie looked at him in a way he recognised, the way that meant she saw right through him.

"You're not happy, are you?" she said as a skylark began to sing.

It was so high up it was barely visible, the tiniest of black dots against the blue fabric of the sky.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Colin murmured, knowing she wouldn't let him get away with it. "Here, that's the last. Should we get going?"

Katie braided her hair and tied it at the end with an elastic band from her Mary Poppins bag, looking at Colin all the time with a disapproving furrow between her eyebrows. Then she leaned over and hugged him. "Come on," she said.

They ended up walking all the way to Greystones, and by the time they got there, clouds had blown in from the west to empty themselves relentlessly over sea, hills and hikers. Katie alternately cursed and laughed as her feet squelched in her shoes.

They took the train back to Dublin and found a pub with a fireplace and a roaring fire. It was the middle of the afternoon and nearly empty, so they snatched the table closest. Katie shook her hair out of the braid.

"Isn't this just so very Jane Austen?" she said, grinning. "Drying my hair in front of the fire."

She was beautiful with her hair wet and no makeup on. Colin smiled at her.

"But if this is _Pride and Prejudice_ ," he said, "and you are Lizzie Bennet, then who am I?"

"Jane," Katie replied promptly, waving aside Colin's spluttered protest. "Yep, you're definitely Jane Bennet. You're quirkier than Jane for sure, and your sense of humour would shock her..."

"... and I'm more _male_ than Jane for sure..."

"... but just like her, you are pining for someone you don't think loves you."

Colin startled so badly he knocked over his half-finished pint, catching it just in time to stop a river of Guinness splashing across the table. "I - what?"

"Don't pretend with me." Katie straightened up, combing her fingers through her hair. "I know you both too well."

"Me and Jane?" His lips felt numb.

Katie pretended not to hear. "You're _pining_ ," she stated. "And so is he. Why do you insist on being idiots?"

"What are you talking about," said Colin weakly. He leaned back in his chair and wished for a trap door to open under him. There should have been one under the carpet. Maybe there was; a door to crypts and catacombs. He had been to St Michan's once.

"Call him," said Katie a little sharply. "I mean it. _Bradley_. I met him in London two weeks ago and he looked just like you."

"And how do I look?"

Katie scrutinised him. It was like being X-rayed; she always saw everything. And of course she was right - she did know them both so very well.

"Pinched," she said. "Strained. I don't know, but it's obvious you're not happy and neither is he, and it's easy to see why. Stop being stupid. It's so simple. Or isn't it?"

Colin tilted his pint glass this way and that, watching the glass move and the velvety dark liquid stay level. "No," he replied quietly. "It isn't."

It was the truth. Whatever it was, this thing between him and Bradley, it wasn't simple. It hadn't been for a long time.

"If you're going to work together again, you should get this out of the way."

Colin leaned back in his well-worn chair and closed his eyes. Katie was right, but that didn't make things any easier. "I know. I just don't know how."

Katie nudged his foot with hers until he looked at her. "Call him," she said. "Whatever happens, it can't be that bad. Remember you're Jane and Bradley is Mr Bingley."

Colin laughed, a short rough laugh like a dog barking. "Thanks for that mental image!"

"Seriously. Call him."

"I know. I will."

At some point. Later. Maybe.

XII

There was one memory that Colin wanted to keep forever, even if he got to be a hundred and fifty and doddery and look like Dragoon the Great. If he lost all his other memories, this was the one he'd like to keep.

They were on a plane, Colin and Bradley, heading over to the States. It was a night flight and they were handed those awful paper-covered pillows and thin blue super-synthetic blankets that crackled and hissed with static electricity when they were touched. The blankets made Bradley's baby-fine hair stand on end, swaying like a thousand confused tentacles, reaching for the nearest surface to cling to. It made Colin crack up. He took a corner of the blanket and rubbed it against Bradley's head, and the long-suffering, exasperated, _adoring_ look made Colin laugh until tears blurred his vision. Bradley snatched the blanket out of Colin's hand and rubbed Colin's head with it. Nothing happened.

"Just because you have Irish steel-wool hair," said Bradley sourly and Colin couldn't resist; he grabbed a fistful of Bradley's t-shirt and pulled him close so he could kiss the pouting mouth, not caring if anyone saw.

Bradley softened. Colin was amazed that it was so easy; that it took so little for him to make Bradley feel like that. That look on his face, that Colin was afraid to put a name to.

The lights were turned out in the cabin and only the odd reading light was on. It wasn't a full flight by far; the seat next to theirs was empty. They pulled up the awful blankets to their chins and tried to sleep, but Colin was cold in the window seat by the icy wall and his legs were too long for the available space.

After fifteen minutes of turning and sighing, Bradley said: "Come here."

They fit their bodies together in an intricate sort of human knot, one they knew well from their own beds. Bradley's front was warm against Colin's back and his fingertips moved gently back and forth over Colin's knuckles in a soothing rhythm. Colin's eyes were getting heavy and he blinked slowly as he looked out the window. Outside, the night was velvet black apart for a thin slice of new moon and a single star, tiny and sharp, hanging white and bright right at the tip of the wing.

Bradley's arm was heavy around him, and in his ear Bradley hummed softly. Colin shivered, hot and cold down his spine at Bradley's voice: "Come away with me..."

This is happiness, Colin thought. This is how it feels to be completely, utterly happy.

XIII

Filming in Dublin came to an end and Colin returned to London. It felt like free-falling. Now there was nothing between him and working with Bradley, only a month of... well, not very much. If he didn't fill it with something, he'd be clawing at the walls within days.

After a pub night with Eoin and a bunch of loud friends, Colin stumbled back to his flat filled with beer-fuelled determination. He sat at the edge of his bed for a long time staring at his phone, where the last text he'd had from Bradley was still saved from years ago.

Quickly, before he could change his mind, he typed a message and sent it off. Feeling accomplished, ridiculous, proud of himself and staggeringly drunk, he let the phone drop to the floor and fell asleep sprawled on top of the bedclothes with one foot still on the carpet.

The message he'd sent to Bradley was: _Take me to Glasgow._

*

The sun woke him rudely by slanting across his face. He tried to brush it away before he realised what it was, and rolled over to bury his face in the pillow with a groan. He was shivering with cold and had the mother of all headaches. Going back to sleep was the only sane option.

When Colin woke up next time, it was three in the afternoon. Yawning, he made coffee, grimacing at the noise of the electric mill as he ground the last of his Blue Mountain beans. It wasn't until after he'd showered that he saw the text from Bradley.

His heart began to pound, only to quicken as he read the message: _Get on the train right this fucking minute._

He stared at the single sentence for a long time; his fingers shaking as he finally sent: _Did you mean that?_

It was nearly an hour before the reply arrived, an hour in which he had chewed down his nails: _Your minutes are way too long, Morgan._

That jump-started him, at least. With some clean clothes and his toothbrush hastily shoved in his rucksack, Colin ran out the door heading for King's Cross.

*

The landscape sped past his window, hills rolling green under a sky heavy with thunder clouds, but his mind was already in Glasgow and his heart beat in time with the rhythm of wheels on rails.

Colin decided against a taxi from the station and walked instead, the pure happiness of being in Glasgow carrying him along the streets. The happiness of meeting _Bradley_ in Glasgow.

All the way on the train he had tried to think what to say when they were finally face to face. He had imagined scenarios and rehearsed dialogues until his head spun, and he still had no idea what to say. Secretly he hoped there would be no need for words.

When the lift doors slid open on to the hotel corridor with an asthmatic sigh, Colin found he had to use every technique he had ever learned to keep calm and breathe normally. 214, 215, 216... He took a deep breath and knocked.

Bradley opened the door in two seconds flat, and for a moment they stood staring at one another. Then Bradley caught Colin's wrist and pulled him inside, letting the door close behind him. Colin's head felt empty. There was only the tiny, dark hallway and Bradley's face half in shadow; nothing else existed. He couldn't even get a hello across his lips.

Colin had half expected Bradley to joke around, perhaps even wave those texts aside, but there was no laughter in his eyes. He almost didn't look Bradley-like at all apart from those gorgeous features that had helped make him such a great Arthur. His fingers still encircled Colin's wrist like a hot band.

"Those were long minutes," he said at last.

Colin felt one corner of his mouth go up. "They did last a few years."

Bradley winced at that and tried to hide it. "Something like that."

"What made you change your mind?" Colin's pulse was thudding in his ears, in his fingertips. "About me. About us."

There was a moment of silence. "I don't know that I ever did. I think I was trying to convince myself that I had."

Angel had said to Colin once: "You know Bradley - good with the jokes, bad with the real feelings."

But that wasn't true, had never been true. Bradley was quite good with the real feelings. He was just bad at voicing them. When he did, he was so open and laid bare that it took Colin's breath away.

This was an admission he had never expected to hear.

When Bradley took a step forward, Colin acted out of habit, the habit that had never left him in all that time, all that waiting in the space between. He leaned forward and nuzzled Bradley's face, breathed on his skin.

"I've missed you like crazy," he murmured into Bradley's cheekbone. "Even when you were around, I missed you. And your floor squeaks."

Bradley's hand came up to hold his chin, and the kiss, the first, landed on his mouth soft and slow. "Everything squeaks in this damn hotel. Floors, doors, windows. The _lift_ , which I find alarming."

Miraculously, there was enough air in Colin's lungs to allow a laugh. His brain hadn't caught up with his body; he felt Bradley pressing up against him but couldn't understand it, couldn't get his head around the fact that he was here.

"I don't need to understand this, do I?"

Bradley shook his head slowly and pulled Colin into the room, where only one small lamp glowed in the blue summer night. "No. Or... yes. First of all..." He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry I made us both so miserable."

Colin looked down at his hand, sliding his fingertips lightly up and down Bradley's arm. "You didn't look miserable. You looked like you didn't care."

That wince again, barely suppressed. "I did. Believe me, I did. I was just... scared, I think?" It was rare to see Bradley so insecure. His voice, low and deep, did things to Colin's spine, to the pit of his stomach. "I don't know. It was too..."

Colin looked up. "Too much?" Because when he did things, he always did them one hundred percent. He didn't know any other way.

"No," said Bradley again and stroked a finger along Colin's jaw. "Too perfect."  


For a moment, Colin stopped breathing. _Too perfect._ He had never thought about it that way, but now that Bradley said it, it made sense.

Everything had gone their way back then. They had been so young and the success of _Merlin_ had been overwhelming, their own rise to stardom sudden and intense. Their lives had changed so dramatically. Colin remembered thinking at times that it was all too good to be true, that it was a dream they'd wake up from. Perhaps this was what Bradley had seen, too.

Being scared was valid, Colin thought. He should know that better than anyone. Not a _good_ reason, but a reason. A very human one.

Bradley was looking at him with studied calm, waiting for the reaction.

"You idiot," Colin whispered.

The kiss was light at first, gentle, but turned heavy within seconds; filled with so much pent-up longing and frustration they were both shaking with it. Colin closed his eyes and let himself be swept away. 

When Bradley pulled off Colin's shirt and dropped to his knees to follow the trail of hair below the navel with his tongue, Colin threw his head back and buried his fingers in Bradley's hair. It would work this time, he thought incoherently. The endless waiting was over. They had caught up.

Bradley began to work Colin's jeans open but stopped himself, glancing up with a question in his eyes.

There was only one answer. Colin's fingers slid down to cup Bradley's face. "Yes," he murmured.

Oh, yes.

**Author's Note:**

> The title and chapter headers of this story are taken from poems by Richard Siken.  
> Story title and VII, VIII, XI: The Dislocated Room  
> I: Dirty Valentine  
> II: Meanwhile  
> III: A Primer for the Small Weird Loves  
> IV and VI: You Are Jeff  
> V: Litany in Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out  
> IX: Saying Your Name  
> X: I Had a Dream About You  
> XII: Scheherazade  
> XIII: Snow and Dirty Rain


End file.
